Invited

Invited to the feast he was

And came not to the feast he was 

So full of doing things at home

So full of telling things at home

Tall stories of the fish he never caught

And the pond he one day thought 

Of making

They say he cannot come 

To the funeral of father

No worry that he would not come

No hurry, he would never come

His back was bent with worries

Was bent with built-in worries

Tall stories of the marriage feast

Drink the wine and kill the beast

Sow the fields with poppy seeds

And father's funeral went the way

Of many more before

As I said, “goodbye, God be with you”

I kissed his balded head

He said, “thank you, my son

I never thought to see you again”

I turned his chair to the sun

To the garden and the sun 

His eyes were too tired

His gaze turned inside

Invited to the feast he was

And came not to the feast he was 

Invited